The Same

Oh, how I love the familiar.

I raised my children in the house that Daddy built for Mama, the house where they raised my sisters and me. My children played on the same monkey bars at the same elementary school that I attended, and we all graduated (or will graduate) from the same high school. We swam at the same pool, but it doesn’t have a high dive anymore. We worship at the same church.

I don’t rearrange my furniture and rarely even change out pictures. I wear the same clothes two days in a row, if I’m not going to see anyone that I saw yesterday. I do the laundry mostly on Mondays and try to work on the checkbook on Fridays. I keep my grocery list on the kitchen table with the Disney pen beside it. Under force of my offspring, I only recently laid my beloved flip phone to rest and upgraded to a cursed iPhone. I despise when folks get new vehicles, because I can’t recognize them in carpool line or on the Circle.

I’m not opposed to Different. As a matter of fact, I like for my friends to embrace the Different; that way, I can experience the excitement of the Different vicariously. And when my people need to be comforted by some Sameness, they can give me a call.

Life overwhelms at times and hearts break.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And the Conners eat Sunday dinner at the Chinese Birthday with the Ramseys and the Youngbloods (yeah, I meant to say Birthday) and go home for MSG-induced naps. And I drink a Diet Coke before handbell practice.

And babies run fevers and barky cough all night long.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And the Byrd reunion is the last Saturday in July. And I will fry cornbread.

And parents die. Or worse, get confused.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And for a dozen years, family vacation was the week of fall break: to Disney in the even years and to Somewhere Else in the odd.

And sleep evades the small business owner during a sluggish economy.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And we go to the lake for Thanksgiving, where we watch all three Charlie Brown holiday specials (It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown; A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving; A Charlie Brown Christmas), and we craft. (We gathered with the King Family in Pinckard on the Saturday before Thanksgiving and with the Conners in Memphis every other year, until Aunt Betty and Mok and Nana died.)

And pancreases quit working. And sugar spikes and plummets.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And King Cousins smack-talk each other in a fierce gingerbread-house decorating contest at the Spencers’ at some point during the holiday season.

And friends move away.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And we celebrate at the Christmas Eve candlelight service at church and stay in our jammies the entirety of Christmas Day. We eat the Memphis BBQ that Papa Chuck sent and nap to the Disney Christmas Parade.

And loved ones divorce.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And the lake friends congregate for Michael’s Firework Extravaganza and ring in the New Year as the ball drops in New York City. The party breaks up at 11:05—but our phones usually pick up Georgia time anyway.

And grandparents’ houses burn.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And the same lake friends assemble for an Easter egg hunt during spring break, even though most of the kids are in their teens now, and as of next spring, the oldest two won’t even be teenagers.

And shoulders have to be replaced. And replaced again.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And Mr. Eidson greets at the Troy Street entrance at First Baptist Church, and Mrs. Sansom puts ice in the glasses for Wednesday Night Family Supper, and until the last couple of years, Mrs. Tolleson sat in her little cubby and took up money.

And the jaw won’t stop hurting, no matter the lengths to fix it.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. And birthdays are celebrated at the Japanese restaurant, preferably with Joe as chef.

And a brand-new, tacky, purple Relax Inn sign supplants the old, treasured Pine Lake Motel sign.

And the sun rises and the sun sets. 

My friend Laurel Griffith probably paints her bedroom twice a year. She welcomes The Different. Read what she has to say about that at http://laureljoycegriffith.com/feels-like-home/.)